21 Years
by sharpestsatire
Summary: "And then?" Iggy asked. "And then," I said. "We save the world." Post-Angel. My take of how the MR series should end.
1. Kind Of Beautiful

**This story was inspired by chapter of 62 of _Angel: a MR novel_, where Dylan kisses her on the Eiffel Tower. Excerpts from said chapter should be pretty obvious. This takes place _exactly_ after _Angel: a MR novel_ ends. Only not after the… epilogue? teaser? chapter?... JP gives where Angel is actually _alive_ (never saw that coming *eye roll*) and about to be brainwashed again. This picks up where we saw Max last.**

**Ok, I can't resist a little rant here, but… Am I the only one who finds the whole Dylan "genetically engineered to imprint on Max" too… paranormal? Twilight-y? And find the heir to the world thing too silly? And the making a baby together thing too… ok, I hate to say it, but _fanfiction_-esque?**

**Also: nothing personal if you like Twilight. :) This comment serves only for chapter one….**

**Disclaimer: I don't own it. Nor do I wish to. Why do you think I write fanfiction? Obviously, MR doesn't cut if for me, as awesome as the basic idea is…**

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><p>I remember years ago<p>

Someone told me I should take

Caution when it comes to love

I did, I did

-_Impossible_, by Shontelle

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><p>Chapter 1 of 6<p>

"Kind Of Beautiful"

Flying was the second best thing in the world. Preempted only by Mom's chocolate chip cookies, of course. But flying was incredible. You never felt hopeless when flying – how can you when you're a scientific miracle, millions of miles above those unfortunate enough _not_ to have wings?

Tortured into existence being beside the point, obviously.

Flying wasn't cutting it for me now, though.

"_Well, for starters… you're kind of beautiful."_

The words slipped back into my head and wouldn't get out. This was what shock did. It latched onto anything – anything – else, because you couldn't handle the truth. Truth like Angel, my baby, was _dead_.

"_Well, for starters… you're kind of beautiful."_

I didn't care for clothing, style or make up. That was Nudge. All I wanted was my family safe, and I'd be a happy camper. All which led me to being labeled a tomboy. Really, I was just a normal girl with her priorities straight. Everything in my life was torn down to the bare bones of happiness: family, friendship, safety and love. Those were what I cared about.

Yet every girl had insecurities and dreams. Which was why I was obsessing with Dylan's comment.

Not because I was in shock. Not because Angel was dead. She wasn't.

Was I beautiful?

Oh, yes, the incredible, indescribable Maximum Ride was being… insecure. How far the great have fallen.

Regardless of if I was beautiful or not, I'd been caught up in the entire situation on the Eiffel Tower. Which is why I, an emotional wreck at the time, let Dylan kiss me. But I'd meant what I'd said to Dylan. Though how I'd managed to have it then, I don't know.

"_I guess you're too _adolescent _to understand that girls want you to like them for who they are, not how they look."_

Was that what imprinting was? Something based on the purely physical? And that was it? The whole thing was _physical_? Yes, it's nice to be called beautiful, but it's _shallow_ after a certain point. Shallow physical beauty gets you nowhere if you delight in kicking old ladies down the stairs. What about morals? Beliefs? Opinions?

Would Dylan still love me if I kicked old ladies down stairs?

Here's what hits me about what Dylan said.

Because Angel wasn't dead. _No_. I wasn't in shock. I wasn't.

Here's what makes my head spin and makes me want to scream.

_He never said anything other than I'm beautiful._

None. He said "for starters" but didn't go on. Me being beautiful was the only reason he got out before he just _had _to kiss me…

If he's my other half, why couldn't he figure out what I needed most right than was encouragement? Some form of pep talk? Not a—albeit mind blowing—_purely physical_ kiss that made everything more complicated. Dylan was sweet. But it was a sweet bordering on obsessively stalker creepy.

If I was old and wrinkled – if I _lived_ that long – would Dylan still like me? Or would he turn into a servant, still imprinted on me, living to serve me since I was no longer "kind of beautiful"?

Who wants to be only "kind of" beautiful anyway? Not exactly the most flattering compliment, if you think about it.

Fang would've understood. Fang would've held me close and told me how good a leader I was, even if I wasn't perfect. He would've told me how mature I was to let Angel grow up and how (like he said so long ago at Anne Walker's house) I was going to be a good mom someday.

But _he_ had _Maya _now.

I refused to admit the thought bit and gnawed at me. I refused to admit how it kept stabbing at me even with a band aid over it. I refused to admit that Angel was dead, and that normally this wouldn't bug me.

Fang had Maya and I had… Dylan. But did I want him?

To be honest, I pitied him a little. He didn't get a choice with the whole imprinting thing. But he was still responsible for confusing me, right? If he _was_ my soul mate/other half, wouldn't he know that kissing me _right then_ wasn't so helpful for my life?

This was freaking ridiculous. I sounded like one of those girls stuck in a love triangle!

~Bob The Page Break, at your service!~

We – Iggy, Nudge, Gazzy, Dylan and Ang – _no, don't think about her!_ – flew in silence from Paris, its flames at our back. We kept up our hushed flight until Nudge – who else? – broke the silence into a million pieces.

"What next, Max?"

My mind moved with all the speed of molasses.

"We…" My steady wing beating rhythm hitched a moment and I fell a foot before stopping myself.

My throat felt tight, the air thin. I forced thoughts of Angel away.

She was fine. She was _fine_.

I flew a few feet quietly before I felt Dylan's wing brush against mine. I jerked away without looking at him and hardened myself. I had a job to do. I'd freaked and ranted to myself long enough about him and Fang.

"First," I said strongly, as if I hadn't stopped before, "we find Ella, Mom and maybe even Jeb."

If he were _alive_ or not.

"And then?" Iggy asked, blind eyes on me even as he flew.

_All eyes on me… No pressure or anything._

I could do this. I was Maximum Ride. Heck, my job in life was to save the world, not pull a Bella Swan.

I smiled. The wind in my hair, sun on my wings, and Paris in flames just behind us mutant freaks, I smiled and laughed in the world's scarred face.

"And then," I said. "We save the world."

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><p><strong>Chapter 1 of 6 down! Thoughts are appreciated. Just so you know, the pacing and chapter lengths will be… how do I put this? Some chapters will be five pages long, others about two? Something like that. The pacing is rather funky. Please bear with me, though. :)<strong>

**Reviews make the world go around! (Money too, but never mind…)**

**All my platonic and non-creepy love,**

**SS**


	2. By Way of Banana

**It's been said a few times in reviews that I captured the old Max from the first few books. That's the biggest compliment I've gotten for a while on here. So thank you for all the great reviews! :D Man, it's hard to remain humble on this site. Everyone's awesome. :P**

**Again, this story is how I picture what happens after _Angel: A MR novel_. This fanfic is six chapters long and packed with what could fill one or two books, so the turn into darkness is rather sharp for this. ****But the future James Patterson paints isn't pretty. Which we don't really seem to get from the books unless we really think about it. And _really_ won't get unless JP decides to stop doing a Twilight love triangle. I'll stop ranting. Anyway, this fanfic is dark, but it isn't scarring, don't worry. It just deals with heavy issues such as the world ending, lol.**

**Special shout out to: my beta/editor Kissy Fishy. For all her help with this. :)**

**Disclaimer: I'm female. 'nuf said.**

**Excerpt from last chapter: _"And then," I said. "We save the world."_**

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><p>Moving all around, screaming of the ups and downs.<p>

Pollution manifested in perpetual sound.

The wheels go round and the sunset creeps behind:

street lamps, chain-link and concrete.

A little piece of paper, with a picture drawn,

floats on down the street 'til the wind is gone.

The memory now is like the picture was then.

When the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again.

-_Forgotten_, by Linkin Park

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><p>Chapter 2 of 6<p>

By Way of Banana

Time passed quicker than one would've thought. Five, ten, twenty, twenty-one years slid by, inconsistently counted by us. And during that time the world went up in flames that steadily worked towards an all-consuming inferno.

During those years, my mom died, Total and Akila had three puppies (all five of them died), Ella went missing and was assumed dead, and Jeb was still MIA. And us?

We changed. We hardened to fight in the new world that was full of fear. We believed in cold hard facts. Golden, _true_ moments of hope was few and far between. But we fought on anyway. Because, logically, the good guys always win, right?

Right.

Also, it would be cowardly to give up and hide after all we'd gone through at the hands of the bad guys. So, yes. We also fought for revenge. To avenge Ella, mom, Total, Akila… and Angel. It's not very heroic. Revenge never is. Revenge is selfishness. But at least we were trying to save the world on the side. You could say that our thirst to avenge their deaths was the driving force behind our mission to save the world. And I guess that would be true. Our family and friends died _because_ of the new world the bad guys created.

It made one wonder if the world was worth saving or not. But, no, there were still some of us left – and humans still need second chances.

Both groups, Fang's Gang and my Flock, fought on, clawed our way to survive on either side of the world where we were located. And as the world disintegrated, messages between us became fewer and fewer as more and more cities fell into blackout. Everything went down the drain, especially in the cities. There was no steady income of food, water and absolutely no electricity. So no internet. And forget about letters. Getting a letter across country was not worth having a bomb fall on you by chance.

My Flock fought on and clung to a ghost of the chance that Fang's Gang was still alive and fighting like us.

I don't claim it was easy to understand why Fang left to do his own saving of the world, but as time passed I did begin to see. How could we be together when the world fell to bits? It made twisted sense to my mind over the years, but my heart still didn't understand.

If we were still together, we were blind to the world around us, and the world would fall apart. And two is better than one, as they say. Two groups instead of one to save the world on its own? The world needed all the help it could get. At least apart and trying to save the world, there was a faint chance we could make a world (after saving it) with enough peace that we could be us. Max and Fang. Fang and Max.

Thoughts like those kept me going, more than revenge. Especially the thought that if I – we – could _just_ save the world, I could be with Fang? Forever? And my Flock would be safe? With a thought like that in mind, of course I kept fighting.

I'm sorry. I'm not exactly a hero anymore, am I? I'm fighting to save my friends and family and to see Fang again. Does that ruin your image of a hero? Of me, the savior of the world, now just trying to save those I love? Because sometimes I think there's no such thing as a selfless human hero. No such thing as a hero that dies for total strangers. It's the stuff of fairytales. I was made the save the world supposedly, right? But I'm human (well, 98% percent anyway), so how can I? How can I?

My friends and family first, the world second. But maybe I should save the world first anyway, so they _have_ a world to live in.

Never mind. The point is: we were still fighting, even if our reasons weren't clear anymore. Even if they were tinged with selfishness, we weren't going out without a fight.

So, praying somewhere out there Fang's Gang was still alive, we did what Fang said the last time I saw him when I was fifteen.

"_We have to kill the plant at the roots," Fang said, "or it'll just grow back."_

The only problem was, there were a _lot _of roots.

Like the world didn't have _enough _problems.

~It's Bob The Page Break again! Remember him? He's from chapter 1!~

We found the final secret lair – the "bulb" all the roots were attached to, if you want to continue the metaphor – by way of a banana.

I only wish I was joking.

At thirty-six years old, I liked to think I'd seen it all.

Later, I hoped, I would be able to laugh at the entire scenario.

~This is Bob's friend, Carl The Page Break. Say hi to Carl, everyone!~

There wasn't much food left in the world. Ok, that's not true. There wasn't much _good_ (read: edible and healthy) food left in the world – like apples and corn. There were perishables, but fruits and vegetables that were naturally grown? That tasted good? And gave your body needed energy? And important things like Vitamin C?

Fruits and veggies were worth their weight in gold. Not that anyone cared about gold or money in the face of starvation and maybe extinction of the entire human (and mutant) race.

Despite destroying a good few of the One Light's plants, and knowing we were getting closer to uprooting it completely, we still couldn't find the bulb all the roots sprouted from. And all the while, the One Light worked steadily on destroying the world to recreate it again.

They gave up on one big bomb to destroy the earth in one go and worked on kicking out the legs out from under earth and the people attempting to save it. It wasn't pretty. The world was made of smoke and fire, more so every passing day.

Anyway, back to the point: finding the Final Secret Lair by way of a banana.

Fruit and vegetables were rare. The day we found the Final Secret Lair, we actually found a _banana_. An honest to goodness banana. Or, more correctly, Iggy did.

"Good job, Iggy," I said, leaping down from a slab of street that was tipped at a seventy degree angle. I opened my wings a little wider to adjust my duster*, and glanced around while I did so.

I hardly noticed the stench of New York anymore, let alone it's makeover. It was a haunting quiet save for our voices.

Nudge landed in a crouch next to me.

"Found a banana?" she asked shortly.

Words are precious and in this, of all places, we had to keep quiet.

"Iggy did," I replied in equally clipped tones, barely noticing the now old scar covering half the side of her face. She nodded. I scanned the area and didn't see Iggy in the deathly silent layer of black smoke around us. The smoke from constantly burning fires moved like the ghosts of the sinful dead, in and out of focus with patches of smoggy air that was only a little cleaner then the smoke itself. If we didn't have enhanced vision, we would've been in trouble.

"Ig!" I demanded. "Location, please!"

"Over here," his low voice drifted back.

Nudge and I stalked in silence over towards the dumpster. It lay tiredly on its side with its insides gutted on the surrounding street. I barely noted the small fire burning a trash bag and walked over it, my black army boots keeping me from feeling its heat.

Iggy straightened from where he was and rolled his broad shoulders. He tossed the bag of bananas to me, the fruits nearly falling out of the ripped, dirty plastic.

"Six bananas," I said, curt. "Good find. Where's the Gasman?"

"Here."

I nodded in acknowledgment at him, where he knelt in the disemboweled window of a ruined building. His black clad form was almost completely blended in, a shadow of a shadow being the outline of his wings.

We all wore black now. Since most cities rained ash from past or recent bombings (courtesy of the One Light, ever trying to do the world good by destroying it), it was easier to blend in if we wore black.

There were a lot of those hundred eyed children about, still brainwashed and zombiefied. They had multiplied, though. By millions. Sometimes they occupied entire cities, so we couldn't stay too long in any place. Not that we'd want to. The country usually had clearer air. Sometimes actual clear patches of sunlight, too. Sunlight was so rare in cities, since bombs were being dropped at random but always around the same area. I was never sure how the One Light managed to make so many. It must've taken years to create a plan like this. The thought chilled me.

"Move out," I barked, spinning away, black duster flying. "It's too quiet."

Fifteen years ago, they would've laughed at such a cliché statement. But New York was a dead city. Only those destined to die soon, wanted to die or had jobs to do went to a dead city. It was too dangerous otherwise.

There'd been two wars since I was fifteen. How was it that even though the world was clearly being blown up at the cornerstones, people still fought with each other?

So, as if World War 3 and 4 weren't bad enough, the One Light had taken to adding mines in some once heavily populated places.

We had learned to step lightly after Nudge's face.

We slipped deeper into the city. We kept our eyes pealed for any life or red neon sign saying "Bulb of All Evilness Here" while I taciturnly passed out bananas.

"You sure there's a base here?" the Gasman asked, sotto voce.

"There's been one in every major city so far."

"It's a dead city," Nudge said flatly, prowling inaudibly next to me, smoke dancing around her form and making it wraithlike. "This is the One Light. It fits their MO."

"Makes sense," Ig's deep voice rumbled slowly to me from somewhere in the thickening ash fall.

"I hope this is the last one," said Dylan, noncommittally, his voice deeper than even Iggy's.

"We all do," I said, and our group lapsed into silence.

We were getting closer to the Empire State Building where the most recent bomb had been dropped. Not that there was much to bomb anymore. No human – or mutant that wasn't indestructible – lived here if they could help it.

"Gasman, cling center," I said tonelessly, not even looking at him. Gasman emotionlessly sidestepped the half ash covered mine. "We'll head towards water. The One Light seems to like water – they can poison and dilute water easily. Iggy, it's your turn for the extra portion."

His hand darted out to catch the banana I'd tossed to him and –

Have you ever seen those old cartoons? Where they comically grasp at the end of the banana but it pops out of their grasp and goes spinning up, almost boomerang like, into the air?

That's what happened.

For all our hardened conditioning and changing for this almost dead world, we were far from perfect.

The banana flew.

The banana fell.

The banana tumbled down the grate at Ig's feet.

I stared, unblinking and expressionless, at the grate. Ash landed on my eyelashes because I stared so long.

Food – especially fruit – was precious.

I strode towards the grate.

"Gasman, Nudge, scout ahead. Ig, with me. I might need a hand up to get out. Dylan, keep watch. Hopefully the gutter isn't too deep and bruised the banana when it fell."

I stood beside the grate and stared down into it. It was too dark to see any further down than half a foot.

"You better pray there's no dead body under this grate, Iggy," I said flatly, not even kidding.

Iggy said nothing.

I raised an eyebrow at him. He was blind, not stupid. He knew _exactly_ what kind of expression I was making. He looked away as best as a blind man could, clearly unimpressed by my eyebrow raising.

I stepped forward onto the grate, to get a better view of where the banana had fallen. As soon as I stepped on the grate it, smoothly, gave out from under me and I was suddenly sliding along a slick metal chute.

All this took place in about two seconds, but I was fast. Faster then I would've been at fifteen.

A flash of cold silver in either hand and I came to a stop on my stomach in the middle of the chute, elbow length knives jammed in to the hilt and holding all my weight. My heart was beating hard in my chest, blood roaring in my eyes.

_What – ?_

Far above me, I could see the grate was back to its original closed position, and looking down at me (or at least in my direction) was the shadow of Iggy.

"Max!" Iggy yelled down the chute. His deep voice bounced around the metal and reverberated in my head.

My face was empty, but inwardly I flinched. I understood he was worried, but did he have to announce to the world – and all it's hundred eyed children – that we were here? With me, the leader, down a… I'm tempted to call this a hole, but that would be too trite. What was this thing, anyway? "Slide" would be too immature, but "chute" didn't quite fit, even if it was close. This was far too manmade to be natural. Normal grates didn't do this. At least, none I knew.

Well, duh. Way to state the obvious, Max.

Oh, right. Back to the present dying world.

"I'm fine!" I called up.

I did a mental once over on my body. One bruised hip, a too quickly beating heart, but I was fine otherwise.

I let my body relax a little more and stretched out, feet dangling down the decline of the chute. I felt the cold metal against my flat stomach and gripped my knife hilts tighter, trying not to shudder.

"Should I come down?"

I wasn't sure he could get down. He was practically standing on top of it, but it didn't give out under _him_. I must be lucky.

"No, don't come down! Get everyone else!"

His shadow disappeared from the grate.

I readjusted my grip on the hilts again and the knives moved an inch down. The chute itself was clean, so the pile of ashes at the bottom must've been huge.

My arms started to burn.

I love my job.

"Max?"

Four heads appeared over the grating.

"Still here," I said sardonically. "Everyone there?"

"Yeah," said Dylan.

Ah, yes. Dylan. Dylan had learned to keep his distance, but he still slipped up from time to time. The worst time was when I broke my leg and he brought all the flowers left in the city at the time. Which was about five dozen.

That was then, of course. There weren't any flowers now. Too much ash, radiation, bombs…

Nudge and the Gasman said nothing.

"What's the plan?" Dylan asked, his normally controlled voice strained.

"Keep looking for the, hopefully, final base. If you find a promising area, mark it with our normal mark, but head back to the burnt out Statue of Liberty foundation. Got it? Any Qs?"

"No," Iggy said. He was my second in command, even blind.

"What are you going to do?" Dylan inquired. And even though his voice monosyllabic, I heard concern. He couldn't shut off his imprint on me, but he could ignore it to a better time. I admired him for that when I wasn't busy saving the world.

What _was_ I going to do? It didn't look like I could crawl back up the chute. It was too slippery… And there wasn't enough room for me to open my wings and fly up.

I made one of my famous Max decisions.

"I'm going to check this out. You have your marching orders. Be safe."

Not waiting for their answer, I jerked both my knives out in a quick motion and started my slide down the chute again, keeping my body streamlined and my knives flat against my arms.

This had better be one good banana.

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><p>*<em>a duster is a cool jacket. Picture Spike from Buffy The Vampire Slayer. I only know this because my mom used to watch the show, ok? I'm not that old yet… Anyway, the jacket's really cool. I think. But it's a matter of taste, I suppose.<em>

**Ahem. *nervous* This is the turning point of the story. This is the chapter I'm most nervous about and it sets the mood for the rest of the story. Yes, it's dark. You might even say OOC, with how curt everyone is. But it's years and years into the future – a very, very bad future. So be glad they ain't cussing up a storm and being weirder then weird.**

**So… thoughts?**

**Review please! Thanks for the reviews last time, again.**

**all my platonic and non-creepy love,**

**SS**


	3. Playing God

**This chapter hates me. I'm pleased and displeased with the outcome of this chapter. But, on the ever bright side, we're at the halfway point, kitties. Thanks to everyone who reviewed! You're awesome! Also thanks to my beta, Kissy Fishy, for... well. Editing. :P**

**Claimer: I don't own Maximum Ride.**

**Excerpt from last chapter (semi-paraphrased):**

**_"I'm going to check this out. You have your marching orders. Be safe."_**

**_Not waiting for their answer, I jerked both my knives out in a quick motion and started my slide down the chute again, keeping my body streamlined and my knives flat against my arms._**

**_This had better be one good banana._**

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><p>If God's the game you're playingWell, we must get more acquainted

Because it has to be so lonely/To be the only one who's holy

It's just my humble opinion/But it's one that I believe in

You don't deserve a point of view if the only thing you see is you

This is the last second chance (I'll point you to the mirror)

I'm half as good as it gets (I'll point you to the mirror)

I'm on both sides of the fence (I'll point you to the mirror)

Without a hint of regret, I'll hold you to it

-_Playing God_, by Paramore

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><p>Chapter 3 of 6<p>

Playing God

I picked up speed fast. The grate – lit by the sickly glow of sunlight mostly blocked by ash – quickly disappeared from sight, leaving me sliding through darkness.

I had to give the One Light points for originality. It is not often you can say, "Oh, I went down this uber long _slide_ to get to the bad guy's lair."

Because I finally decided that it really was more of a slide than a chute, believe it or not.

Of course, that's where any admiration – however twisted there was – ended. Considering how _un_clichésliding down a slide was to the bad guy's lair, I was guessing I wouldn't find a pit full of tigers and/or alligators at the bottom.

Now, dragons on the other hand… well, I wouldn't want dragons, but I also wouldn't be surprised if there was one at the bottom. Dragons were original, right?

The slide was long enough for these thoughts. It was so ridiculous, it was almost morbidly funny. I was 99% likely sliding to my death, after all. Did dragons snap you up in one piece, or eat you in two pieces?

It was actually a legitimate question.

Kids with wings? Easy enough. So giant lizards with flamethrower capabilities? Piece of cake. Just the next step up. I did say the world had changed. I wasn't kidding.

After the One Light had realized their star creation (i.e. _moi_) wasn't going to join them, they'd gone all _Itex_-y on us – only more hardcore. The worst Max clone was the one with a tail who spoke monkey. The best one was the one who was exact duplicate, complete with memories. It was only because I didn't actually speak French that clued them in. Not that it was hard to figure out. Truly, for people who were doing a good job of destroying the world, one would think that they'd try to get rid of the original before replacing it.

I suppose I could take it as a compliment not to be able to be duplicated so easily. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and all that crap.

For all the danger I lived with every day, sliding down a dark chute wasn't at the top of the list of things I'd consider scary. Just when I was seriously considering counting sheep to pass time, I shot out the end of the chute and… landed on a feather mattress?

I bounced a bit. Yup. Feather mattress.

What the heck?

Slide down a slide and land on a feather mattress instead of something that would kill me? Oh, yes, more originality points. Unless the feather mattress was supposed to eat me…?

I hopped off it and onto the concrete floor, knives ready and body in fighting position.

I looked carefully around the square, bunker type room. My expression was blank as I took it in, my heart beating steadily in my chest. The room was lit by a – what else? – flickering bald light swinging hypnotically overhead. The feather mattress (and the bruised banana) was the only thing in the room.

Oh, wait. There was a cockroach in the corner that scuttled away from me as soon as I stepped off. I guess it didn't get many visitors.

I stood statue still for a beat, examining the only door in the room, before relaxing some.

It was the post apocalypse after all. You could never relax completely.

I glanced at the cockroach before I stepped towards the door, knives flashing dully in the weak light. A light blinked on the door and I let out a silent breath. My heartbeat picked up.

A sign blinked over the door, saying, simply and plainly, "Welcome, Maximum Ride. Ready to meet your destiny?"

I stared at the red sign for a minute.

Really? That was the best they could come up with? I was disappointed.

I flicked my wrist and sent one of my knives spinning through the air and into the sign.

"Too overused," I muttered, the words bouncing back at me against dead concrete walls. "Like I haven't heard the destiny shtick before."

I strode to the door and paused to yank my knife out from the dying red sign.

The door swung open to a black hall.

"You lose originality points for that!" I yelled down the hall.

As I walked down the hall, lights flickered to life above me, only to fade back off when I was farther down the hall. So uncreative.

The wall finally ended at another door with another glowing red sign that this time said, "Knock, knock, Maximum Ride."

Uh. Wow.

A knife went into that one too.

"No creativity anymore," I murmured. "Not even their name is good."

I quickly pulled my knife, where it was still vibrating, from the sign while the door slid open…

Revealing a black room.

"Yo!" I called, knocking the butt of my knife against the doorway, making a _chink_ noise that waltzed ahead of me. "This is me knocking!"

"… me knock.. knock….ing… ng…" meandered back to me.

If only one could knife echoes.

"Lights, please! It's not like I don't know this is the One Light lair!"

Maybe I said one of the codes that turned on the lights, because before the final "lair… air… ir…" had bounced back to me, the lights flickered on.

I almost expected dramatic music when I saw what the lights revealed.

But since no music blasted from unseen speakers, insert dramatic drum roll here.

The lights revealed a man sitting on a throne placed upon a raised dais.

Yup. A throne.

They just don't make bad guys like they used to. Post-apocalypse bad guys. I swear.

I jammed my knives into their sheaths and walked up to the throne.

Throne. Pfft.

I had changed, toughened, but I still felt fear. I was all bravado now. Because before now I could handle cliché – you knew what to expect when faced with so much cliché that it actually almost smacked you silly.

But something felt wrong.

No. I'm serious. My stomach was churning and it was all I could do to keep from throwing up. Was I feeling like this because he might be the final bad guy to stop? That it was almost over?

When I stood a few feet away from the man's dais, I crossed my arms over my chest and cocked an eyebrow.

"And you are?" I asked.

Please, don't say it…

"Your worst nightmare."

Oh, my gosh.

Right. The other One Light bases? They were usually taken out with bombs – courtesy of Iggy and the Gasman – or sometimes swept through by all of us, with death in our eyes. Sweeping through a base consisted of hand to hand combat with a few minions that really couldn't tell that their oh so secret base was not exactly secret anymore. Grit, blood and fire could be handled easily in my calloused hands.

But this? Almost twice as scary because this _was_ the real world.

_And real bad guys didn't act like this_.

Again with the "something felt wrong."

I looked him over.

Fine. I'd play by their rules.

My stomach rolled unpleasantly. Nerves and fear almost stifled my senses. Something felt horribly off.

"No, you're not," I said.

"Excuse me?" the man demanded.

He was so perfectly nondescript. Which was odd. You'd think he'd be wearing a black cape or something… or a snazzy suit.

To be honest, he reminded me of what I could remember of Sam from all those years ago.

Well, the man did have a crown… I could forgive him the lack of cape.

I raised my other eyebrow.

"You're not Iggy in a tutu, Gazzy crying over a broken nail, Dylan wearing eyeliner and Nudge singing High School Musical," I clarified. "So, no, you're not my worst nightmare."

He blinked. I smiled.

(Read: bared my teeth.)

"Sorry," I said, saccharine sweet. "I missed my line, didn't I? 'You won't get away with this!'"

The man visibly gathered himself, and launched into his spiel.

"We have all the power in the world at our finger tips. This is your last chance, Maximum Ride. Join us. Create a perfect new race, without fear or death. We're _so close_ already."

I didn't see the "we" he was rambling about. Talk about delusional. Was this really the man behind the (almost completely) destroyed world?

But then his words sunk in.

_We're so close already._

Those words sparked in me and I sucked in a breath.

"Are you perfect?" I asked.

The man coughed, choked on his words, obviously having been about to launch into another monologue.

"Excuse me?" he said shrilly and coughed again to, I assume, fix his sudden ability to sound like a preadolescent girl.

"Or, more correctly, are you God?"

Because surely he was crazy, but not _that _crazy.

"No." The answer was stiff. Aw, I must've hurt his feelings.

Wait, did people who destroyed the world even _have_ feelings?

"Am I perfect?" I asked.

The man clearly was clearly debating if the "destined" savior of the world was crazy or not.

"No, but you will be the mother of a new, perfect race," he offered. "Believe in yourself, Maximum. You can be ruler of a great new world!"

My smile was bitter. "Believe in myself? I'm flawed and nowhere near perfect – just like everyone else. I've made mistakes, many that have affected millions. And I'm not God. I'm as human as a freak with wings can get. Heck, I can't even save the world from a clichéd nutjob until eleven years later! How can I be a ruler or mother of a race of 'perfect' people when I myself am not perfect? When no one is? How can I be the world's savior when I cannot even be perfect? The world needs saving, and there's only so much I can do, scarred as I am. I've made so many mistakes, I've fallen so far. So, tell me, how can I believe in myself?"

I was spinning his mind in circles, I could tell.

Maybe his crown was too tight.

He seemed unsure of whether he should be saying his next line or not.

"So you believe in God?" he finally decided on.

"I have to," I said quietly. "It's my only hope."

"Oh." He was silent for a moment and I took the time to check for escape roots. Door at the far end of the room past the throne, and the one I'd come in by. I spun my knife into the air and caught it while he thought. I toyed with the idea of throwing the knife into his throat and was about to when he cleared said throat.

I looked at him guardedly, fingering my knife.

"So you won't join me, Maximum?"

Mental facepalm.

"No," I said, annoyance showing in my voice, even though my expression was blank. "And you won't stop destroying what's left of the world?"

"No! I'm remaking it! We're so close, Maximum!"

Cue mental sigh.

"Of course," I agreed. And in a move almost to fast to track, I whipped one of my knives through the air. It severed the air cleanly, faintly whistling, and buried itself into his throat. "It's taken me this long to get here. Millions have died because of my inability to stop you until now."

With a shuddering breath, I sent up to God the helpless prayer of a sinner who begged that this would be the last killing I'd ever commit.

It took a moment for me to realize that the knife didn't bury itself in his throat so much as… pass through it, making his neck flicker.

No. _No no no no_! My stomach heaved and I pressed an arm to it, eyes glued to the throne.

It was a hologram.

The force of my throw made the throne – obviously some sort of wimpy plaster – tip over backwards to reveal a black box underneath. Without any conscious thought, I sprinted up the dais and slid on my knees to a stop before it.

I opened it, my heart beating a war tattoo in my chest.

Inside the black box was a pristine white piece of paper with the words _You should've joined while you could_ scrawled in jagged script on it.

Beneath the note was another square black box, with a timer counting down from fifteen seconds.

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><p><strong>Tadaaaaa! Don't you love cliff hangers? Did you hate this chapter, like it, love it? Tell me what you think!<strong>

**all my platonic and non-creepy love (I promise),**

**SS**


	4. The Root

**Hi. :D ****I had about four shout outs for some awesome reviewers/friends/beta(s?), but since this chapter is short I didn't want to give a _really_ long AN. It'll be in the next chapter, though. Until then, just know all your reviewers are coveted and ooh-ed and aah-ed over by me. (:**

**Disclaimer: I'm female.**

**Excerpt from last chapter: _Inside was a pristine white piece of paper with the words __You should've joined while you could__ scrawled in jagged script on it. __Beneath the note was another square black box, with a timer counting down from fifteen seconds._**

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><p>Goodness knows I saw it coming<br>Or at least I'll claim I did  
>But in truth I'm lost for words<p>

-_Chocolate_, by Snow Patrol

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><p>Chapter 4 of 6<p>

The Root

For a precious third of a second, it was impossible to process.

First, I froze – _Fang, __I'm so sorry I couldn't make it_ – and realized this must be it. I would die.

The all knowing "they" say that, before you die, your life passes before your eyes. And they're almost right. But it's impossible to have your life flash before your eyes. All that? Every high and low, every burning second you're alive? Squeezed into one moment?

"They" know a lot of things, but they're wrong about this.

My life didn't pass before my eyes. I had impressions of emotions, vague memories like a song almost forgotten. Brief flickers of faces across my mind's eye. Frozen moments of happier times. Angel giggling, Nudge chattering, Iggy snorting, Dylan smiling, Gazzy guffawing… Fang smirking.

Not memories. Just faces of those I loved (yes, even Dylan) and would never see again.

Regret filled me, but relief as well… Because it was finally over. Even if it wasn't the ending I would've wanted. I wouldn't be here to see the whole world die.

It took five seconds for that to happen. And then I was back in the sharp present, gazing down at the black box that would be the death of the incredible, indescribable Maximum Ride.

_No._

It was a quiet little voice in the back of my head growing louder.

_No. __**NO**__._

I refused to die like this and let the Flock and Fang's Gang try to save the world. They didn't deserve that on their shoulders.

Eyes blazing, I looked up and saw the door that had been behind the throne. I threw my wings out and prepared to go to hyperspeed and maybe survive –

But something made me pause. I glanced down and, with my rapture vision, saw faint – so faint _I _could barely see it – outlines of a trap door.

_Seven seconds._

My eyes narrowed, I hurled the box as far from me as I could – pretty dang far – and was on my hands and knees feeling around the floor for the latch.

It was surprisingly easy to find.

Obviously the One Light had underestimated me – and my rapture vision – _again_.

A tiny bit of pressure and the trap door swung down.

_Five seconds._

I jumped down the hatch, landed in a crouch and took in my surroundings in a millisecond.

White room, walls covered in computers, a screen on the wall showing the throne room, table with three chairs, a _huge_ fridge –

"Max!" Jeb cried, startled, hands stilled on a computer keyboard. But my knife was already whizzing through the air and that was, finally, the _true_ end of Jeb Batchelder.

_He_ definitely wasn't a hologram.

Ella gasped, but Angel's eyes were cold.

_Three seconds._

With a quick motion, I pushed the trap door up as the bomb exploded. The room shook once, computers rattled, but nothing else was affected. I stood, feet planted firmly on the ground, my blood thundering in my eyes. If I thought too much – like how Jeb (who fell out of a _plane_) and Angel (who was blown up by a _bomb_) were alive – I knew I wouldn't make it. I'd lose my concentration on what was happening. I was so close to the end of my job, I couldn't afford it.

I quickly scanned the room once more while Ella exclaimed rapturously, "Max! Are you here to join the One Light?"

My smile was sad.

"No. Sorry, Ella. Sorry, Angel."

Two more precise throws and they're both out cold, hit with the pommel of my knife and the extra one I carried in my boot. The other one was had been in the throne room still.

As I surveyed the room, the _root_, of the One Light cult, it slowly dawned on me.

_It was over_.

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><p><strong>I know. This chapter sucks. Anticlimactic, short, stupid, terrible... But, yes, I do have a reason for using Jeb as the bad guy. The explanation is really long, so it's on my profile if you're <em>really<em> interested. Keep in mind that this story is six chapters long and it is hard to do a twisting, stunning story arch in a story this short. I'll probably post the next chapter on Saturday. :) While I do know the chapter sucks, can you tell me nicely? :D**

**Reeeeevvviiiiiiew! You know you want to. I do hope I didn't let you all down about the bad guy being who he is. Review and let me know. :)**

**All my non-creepy love, you awesome people you, :D**

**SS**


	5. The New Tagline

**A few shout outs: Kissy Fishy for beta-ing. SPYforYOU for the three reviews all on the same day for each chapter – that totally made my day. Desperatelyobvious for being an awesome friend and reviewing/critiquing with longer than normal reviews I get – also, in general, being awesome (go check out her stuff! Go! Now! Go go go! Move it!). Xx-Twitch-xX who _isn't_ reading this story as far as I'm aware, but she's awesome too and I've barely PMed with her. There's a really weird story behind how we met on here, and it makes me wonder just how small fanfiction _really_ is but – anyway! Thanks for everyone who reviewed! You're all amazing and I treasure you!**

**Disclaimer: If I were JP, would I really be on _fan_fiction?**

**Excerpt from last chapter: As I surveyed the room, the _root_, of the One Light cult, it slowly dawned on me. _It was over_.**

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><p>How far do I have to go to get to you?<p>

Many the miles, many the miles

How far do I have to go to get to you?

Many the miles - but send me the miles

And I'll be happy to follow you, love

_Many The Miles_, by Sara Bareilles

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><p>Chapter 5 of 6<p>

The New Tagline

How do you go from post-apocalypse back to normal? Is it _post_ post-apocalypse? After Apocalypse?

AD, BC and now AA?

Jeb had been the only one down there, save Angel and Ella, and it was clear they'd been there a long time. I'd checked out the room. One _huge_ fridge with food and drink to fed them for ten years to come, three beds, two bathrooms… But my thoughts kept coming back to one fact: Jeb was behind it all? My father? The father I'd just killed? The father who'd tried to kill _me_ when I didn't join? I didn't understand. Did I need to understand why the bad guy did what he did to be able to move on?

Maybe I was still in shock. My thoughts were feeling a bit disjointed and I didn't _understand_. It was just _done_?

Things would never be the same. (No duh.) After twenty-one years, people were almost used to the smothering fear that saturated the world. But now mutants weren't exactly _secret_ anymore and it really sunk in for everyone.

This was the new world. With humans and mutants living together.

Surprisingly, all (well, a huge percent anyway) were striving to build what was destroyed. For now that the One Light stopped their… No. Now that Jeb had stopped his bombings, water poisoning and crop burning, the nations could stop blaming each other and work together. It was such a movie ending, I wanted to stop and laugh at times.

A lot of it was shock. I'd saved the world by killing my own father. But the shock dulled over time. Telling the world they no longer had to fear helped me not think about it. It wasn't sunshine and daisies. The world wasn't in _perfect_ harmony. Far from it.

For almost two weeks after, the sky still rained ash in places and the sun _still_ couldn't shine purely. And there was no order, no command. As much as humans and mutants were glad to be free of fear and could try to glue the broken world together again, there were still those that took advantage. Looting, murder, slavery, gangs…

Someone had to step up unless the disorganized world wanted to suddenly find themselves with a dictator and under cruel anarchy.

It was bitter and sickeningly ironic that I stepped up. After all I'd already done, my job, it turned out, wasn't complete. It took two years more, when I was thirty eight, before I trusted the appointed rulers of the new world to serve their countries – or what was left of them – to the best of their abilities.

I had seen it all. I wasn't so much as hardened now as tired. Ridiculously tired. Would I ever have a happy ending?

~Nope. It's not Bob. Tsk. Expect the unexpected. This is Carl, Bob's BFF!~

Angel and Ella recovered well, especially with their designated guardians: Iggy and Gazzy. In the beginning it was hard. They had to be dunked under ice-cold water every day, and had steam used on them every evening. It was an intense therapy on their nerves. But in the end, it was good for both groups. Gazzy was no longer so dark with his sister back, since he'd been the one affected most by the changes the world took. Iggy smiled more. Angel was a pale shadow of the glittering little girl she once was, but she was more mature now and came out better for it.

Ella was scarred psychologically but alive. She was almost completely normal by the end. Nudge and Ella bonded well and were as close as any sisters. They were an odd pairing, a normal human and a physically scared mutant. But they were good for each other, and found love in those two years from two mutants I ok-ed.

All in all, it seemed everyone's happy ending was slowly shaping. Iggy had found a girl he was interested in, Nudge had been proposed to just today, Ella expected to soon, Angel was actually content with her position, Gazzy was back to tinkering with bombs and Dylan wasn't forcing himself on me.

It was on the balcony, after stepping down from the world leader, that I felt I could finally _breathe_ and heal like the others had been all along. A weight was lifted off my shoulders.

"Max?"

Was there no peace?

I didn't look and I refused to snap at him. "Hey, Dylan. How are they?"

He chuckled and leaned next to me on the railing. We overlooked the destroyed New York from one of the few rebuilt buildings in the city. I could hear the faint murmur of human and mutant voices in the conference room behind us. Maximum Ride had stepped down and now they were on their own.

"They can't believe it," he said. "_I_ can't, and I knew you'd step down before they did. I think they might have truly thought you'd be ruler of the world until you died, to save them from having to deal with all the mess the individual continents have. You're not superhuman and you're not God, so I don't know how they could expect you to go on under so much pressure."

_I've made mistakes, many that have affected millions. And I'm not God._

I pushed the past away and shrugged. A breeze rustled my wings.

It was so nice to not wear windbreakers constantly now.

"It needed to be done," I said. "Monarchy always ends in revolution, soon or years down the road. And after so much chaos, with no ruler anywhere, people need choice for something like this. Everyone seems content with how the polls went."

Dylan didn't answer, and even after all I'd gone through I felt the beginnings of nerves. Now that I had no more obligations…

"Max," Dylan said slowly. "Now that the world is saved for the time being…"

"After twenty years, it's on track finally, yes," I said flatly.

"… do you think we could get married?"

Insert me choking on spit here.

No "Do you want to date?" just "Do you think we can get married?".

Dark eyes with black hair falling infuriating (coolly) in front of them flashed through my mind.

I had broken my promise. We hadn't met where we'd flown with the hawks.

Did I even deserve a second chance?

"Oh." Dylan's low voice interrupted my thoughts; I had forgotten he was there.

"What?" I asked, startled.

His smile was weak, but he tried anyway.

"You still love him."

It was a statement, not a question. And I was long past my adolescent years of denial.

"Yes," I said softly. "I do."

"Go to him, then. Someone else should sacrifice their happiness." His smile was brave and golden. "You've done more then enough for this world."

I stared at him, with his bluest of blue eyes, soft hair and handsome face. Every girl's dream. And he really and truly adored me. But…

"But the leaders…" I started halfheartedly.

"The leaders can do what they're supposed to by themselves anyway: _lead_. You can't hold their hand every step of the way, Max. They're adults too."

On impulse, the hard years suddenly falling off me every second ticking by, I giddily bounced on my toes and kissed Dylan's cheek.

It took twenty-one years to save the world, and two more to get it more organized. I'd waited twenty-three years, there was no way I was waiting any longer after a green light like that.

Was he still alive? Why hadn't he contacted me before? I know the internet wasn't functioning completely even after two years, but I had been "ruling" the world for two years, so I wasn't that hard to find…

I shoved the thought away.

"Thank you! Say goodbye to Iggy, Gazzy, Angel, Ella and Nudge for me!" I hollered over my shoulder as I jumped over the balcony edge.

"Max!"

I turned in midair, and looked behind me.

"If he isn't there, come back to me."

What was this? A cheesy romance?

"_Bye_, Dylan!"

And then I was a hyperspeeding blur across a grey sky streaked with everlasting blue.

~Yo. It's Carl here.~

As soon as I was out of Dylan's ever over comforting, suffocating space, the doubts invaded thickly.

Twenty-three years. He couldn't be alive.

And then I scoffed at myself, because _really_. The man I was in love with was as tough as I was. Tougher, probably. But you'd never catch me saying _that_ out loud. And he was probably more hardened than I was, since _he_ didn't have silly things like PMS even as the world was falling apart.

_He was alive. He was._

Plus, the man's name was _Fang_. Chances are a Fang would survive the apocalypse, more than, say, a Sam would.

So, praying I hadn't hardened too much to love, that Fang hadn't either, and that he was still alive –

Shut up, Doubt.

– I flew to the place I said I'd be three years earlier.

~Bob here. Carl's taking a nap.~

For the past twenty-three years, my mind had been a blur of thoughts similar to these: fight. Stop the bad guys. Save the world.

Things had changed radically since then. I knew that.

But there was a huge difference between flying across the states, focused on saving the world and hoping a bomb wouldn't be dropped right as I was flying, and flying across the states without a single, almost literal "world on your shoulders" related weight.

It was _really_ nice to not have to dodge ricocheting bullets from random outbursts of violence between gangs or clumps of people simply trying to survive. It had been dangerous flying then. Flying too high and you might suffocate on ash or the smoke from fires below. Fly too low and you risked bullets or whatever long range power a mutant might have. Not even adding the risk of bombs, it wasn't fun flying.

But now…

I had flown through the night. As I coasted through the air, destined for Lake Mead in Arizona, I looked back and saw the sun peaking on the horizon.

Sun barely obscured by ash, dust or smoke.

I smiled and took it as my cue to refuel.

It really was a new world. One with a _sun_. One with _hope_. It had been a while since I could more than just tentatively lean on hope. It felt… good. It felt good to land and not worry.

Americans are known for their stubbornness to live, thank you very much. So while it wasn't what it used to be – far from it – and while you could still see blackened ruins spotting the area, it was definitely growing, thriving, and _living_ again.

I landed firmly on two feet, hand resting on the knife strapped to my thigh. I checked out the area, found it clear, then entered the haphazard restaurant shoved in a tiny corner at the end of the street.

I was entering the building when someone tapped me on my shoulder.

In a flash, before I had even focused on who or what they were, I had the being pinned to the wall, knife at their throat.

The guy put up his hands, a sheepish expression on his acne riddled face.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I should know not to do that to people now, huh?"

At my stonewall face, his smile faded.

"Just wanted to say cool wings, man. Wish I had some."

I eyed him. He had porcupine quills for hair.

"Nice hair."

My knife was gone in a blink. Leaving it at that, I turned to leave, but his suddenly shocked voice calling after me made me pause.

"Hey, wait a minute! Are you one of the Flock or Fang's Gang?"

I would never, after so many years of anonymity, get used to the fact that the Flock and Fang's Gang were known worldwide. It made my skin crawl and my paranoia kick in. It went against everything I grew up doing.

I considered lying, but saw no harm. And, besides, I had lied enough to last a lifetime.

"I'm Maximum Ride."

My tagline was now "Savior of the World," not "escaped mutant freak."

His expression of awe was, frankly, mortifying.

When he _wouldn't stop stuttering_, I shrugged and tossed him a tight smile. Maybe I even fought down a blush, but that's a secret between Porcupine Hair and me. I headed into the restaurant, _maybe _pink faced, for some grub.

I left an hour later because of the crowd inside. Several times I reminded myself that, no, you _don't_ kill civilians, no matter how annoying they are. And not only was it claustrophobic, but after they found out who I was, I practically had to dog paddle out the door. I was close to drowning in the gratitude raining down on my head.

Finally, I resorted to acting like a two year old and darting (er, crawling) out the door through people's legs.

"Thanks for the burger, ma'am! Gotta fly! Official meeting with Fang's Gang!"

I swear, if I knew saving the world would be so… fame inducing – well, no, I would save the world again. Still, my fame for anonymity. My crown for a baseball hat.

I think I lost a few feathers in there.

Despite my annoyed thoughts, I _still_ felt good. I had about an hour's flight ahead of me and the mix of frustrated agitation and plain old ego didn't make my flight boring.

"_Oh, you're a banker? That's nice. _I _saved the world two years ago. Why, no, I wouldn't mind giving you an autograph."_

~Bob lied. As if _I _would take a nap. I was just checking out the back of my eyelids. Page breakin' is hard work.~

Remember how I said we hadn't had contact from Fang's Gang for years? Courtesy of no internet anywhere in the world? But we did sign abandoned buildings as we went through with the word FLOCK in bold print. And from time to time we saw a few FANG'S GANG on the wall. But it was hard to tell when they'd been put there.

_Fang was dead._

The thought wouldn't leave me. I had to land several times, because of hyperventilation, and double over to get rid of black spots before my eyes. I could handle the world going to flames, I could last past the apocalypse, I could make the world semi ship shape, but the thought of losing someone I loved? As more than a brother?

By the time the sun was setting over Lake Mead, I was touching down on the rim. With the dying light, I could see the once beautiful Lake Mead was green, stagnant and filled with trash. An awful smell stuffed the air, making me gag. It wasn't the picturesque scene it once was. I stood, looking around for a while in the dying light. My heartbeat was faster than before. I wasn't sure I could fly steadily, and took a moment to breathe deeply.

_I was here. Was Fang?_

And finally, kicking up a thin layer of charred wood (old fire maybe?), I pushed off the edge of Lake Mead. My heart was pounding so hard it was all I could hear.

I scanned for the cave. Time and the apocalypse had changed the edges of Lake Mead, but the cave should be right…

There was only one cave with flickering firelight tripping out ofs it.

The years had made me as silent as Fang once – still was? – was, and I hit the edge of the cave quietly. I held my breath.

A group of six people sat around the fire, too dim to be made out.

Save one shadow I would recognize even after twenty-three years.

I cleared my throat.

"Hey, Fang."

* * *

><p><strong>Semi cliff hanger, yes? To make it clear, personally, <em>I <em>do NOT hate the Dylan from the books. I pity him, actually. Imprinting must suck. What's the difference between imprinting and love? Imprinting is forced (and seems to be based a lot on physicality), love isn't. Love should _NEVER_ be forced. And I made Dylan figure out that, if you love someone, you let them go if you know they'd be happy elsewhere – even if it tears your heart out in the process. That's the kind of sacrafice love for someone else is _sometimes_. Depends on the situation, honestly, but in this one, you (Dylan) let someone (Max) go because you know they'd be happy with someone else… *points to Dylan* You're welcome, Dylan! (I'll probably add a longer, more explained rant about imprinting/MR relationships to my profile at some point, just so you know. Because sometimes you don't let go of someone, even if they think they'll be happy elsewhere.)**

**Oh, and to clarify, I do not hate Dylan from the books. Some Dylans on fanfiction? Yes.**

**Fax girl all the way, though. Fax ftw!**

**Epilogue is next. (: Review please!**

**-SS**


	6. Epilogue

**Hey, hey! I'd like to thank the following people for reviewing: MidNyte . Melody, kittiesrock90210, Avalonyx, desperatelyobvious, jj, JealousMindsThinkAlike, PEACELOVINGIRL, SPYforYOU and TheNocturnalChandelier. Also, thanks for Kissy Fishy's beta-ing. You guys are awesome. You rock my socks. You really do. :D Thanks so much for the reviews! **

**HUGE MONSTER SIZED SHOUT OUT TO: desperatelyobvious, for answering my question recently on how Ella and Iggy were de-brainwashed, and before that my question about where Fang said he'd met Max if they were both alive in twenty years. (Lake Mead.) I can't believe I forgot to do this sooner, but that's the only reason I was able to write chapter five how I did. I had to get a mental picture of Lake Mead, couldn't remember how many years or _where _they were supposed to meet, preceded to hyperventilate, google my life away (couldn't find a answer that seemed solid enough to trust) and PMed desperatelyobvious all in the same day. She totally saved my life (and this story, in ways). Prompt responses too, both times. She's all kinds of epic and is totally awesome. :D**

**Oh, and I was soooo tempted to hold off for a while on posting this cause… it's gonna sound stupid but _21 Years_ had 21 reviews! So I was like, "That's cool! I want to keep it that way!" -_-' Whatever. :D I decided to post this anyway.**

**Claimer: I claim this plot, this epilogue and all the chapters before it. I claim the right to disclaim MR's plot ideas and all characters associated with it. I simply borrowed them from JP and molded them to my will. Mwhahahaha! Anyway…**

**Excerpt from last chapter: _A group of six people sat around the fire, too dim to be made out. Save one shadow I would recognize even after twenty three years._**

**_"Hey, Fang."_**

* * *

><p>"You have to walk carefully in the beginning of love; the running across fields into your lover's arms can only come later when you're sure they won't laugh if you trip." -Jonathan Carroll<p>

* * *

><p>Epilogue<p>

Here's something that I guarantee will spin your head around:

Fang and I didn't get married for two years.

Because, while Dylan was made for me in the literal sense, the scientists didn't _know_ me. They only had papers and stats for my body. So while my body had, technically, a physical other half (one that I could live without, though), my heart and soul had found its soul and heart mate.

Cliché?

Yes. That didn't fail to escape my notice.

But a nutso cult-like group destroyed a huge part of the world and it's not like we haven't heard "cult goes wrong" plots before. So my love life? Its cliché-ness doesn't make me bat an eye.

I've given up trying to understand how the world works.

Besides, if the cliché-ness in my life was a cliché happy ending, I wasn't going to complain.

After a tearful reunion (on my part – he hadn't changed _that _much), Fang and I found we still knew each other well, but not the same way we used to. It'll be repetitive, but honestly, the world had changed and so had its people. We had to reacquaint ourselves with each other again. It took a while. Both of us were more paranoid, a fact highlighted when we started dating. Trust was hard for a while.

But now… did you know Fang's favorite color is green? Apparently, he'd seen and worn enough black to last a lifetime. He missed _green_ grass during the apocalypse. I had too. Our yard was overgrown in patches on purpose, just because it was _green_ and not dead brown or covered in ash.

He still wore black, out of habit most likely, and it was almost comforting. It was nice to find some things hadn't changed.

After we had familiarized ourselves with each other…

It wasn't quite the wedding of the century, so much as the wedding the whole world watched. So, yes, they did catch me – on tape – tripping over my wedding gown's (yup, gown, not dress) long train. I didn't care then and still don't today.

Because they also caught Fang _grinning_ in front of people other than myself. Grinning because he was too happy to hide it.

~Yo! It's the last page break of this story! Carl and Bob were happy to meet you and thanks so much for reading (: ~

I smiled at the blue sky just outside the kitchen window and sipped my orange juice. The sky was edged on the bottom by a green tree horizon, the trees waving gently in a breeze I couldn't feel.

Two warm arms wrapped around me from behind, but I didn't tense.

"What are you thinking about?" Fang's husky voice breathed into my ear.

I managed not to shiver – I was forty one, for heaven's sake – but he knew me too well. I felt him smirk (yes, felt) into my neck, his lips were that close. He dropped a quick kiss onto the skin showing. I was wearing a tank top.

I put my glass down on the window ledge and turned around to face him, heart full. I met his dark eyes, and it was my turn to smirk.

"I'm thinking about your cliché proposal last year."

His eyes narrowed slightly, but even with his expressionless mask on I could still tell he was humored.

"And what was wrong with it?" he asked.

I hid my snigger in his dark green t-shirt and wrapped my arms around his neck tightly. He rested his chin on the top of my head.

"What was wrong with it?" Fang repeated, his voice sounding quite deep with my head on his chest.

"Nothing, really. I never took you for a fancy dinner, single red rose, candlelight kinda guy is all."

I was laughing into his chest. And I was cradled far too closely to him to actually hide my laughter. Not that I wanted to.

"Well, it got you to say yes, didn't it?" he asked softly, voice dropping a few octaves.

I titled my head back to see him. His eyes were blazing with something I knew and it made me flush.

"Yeah." I stuck my tongue out at him, ruining the mood. Despite being forty one, I felt younger every day with him. "But that doesn't make it less cliché. I would've said yes if we were in the middle of a tsunami and you only had a soda can tab for a ring."

Fang raised an eyebrow at me, lips twitching. "If we were in the middle of a tsunami… I love you, Max, but I wouldn't be thinking about asking you to marry me right then."

"What about if we were in the eye of the storm?"

"Nope," he responded, resting his forehead on mine. His smile was sweet and just for me. "I'd be worrying about trying to save you."

My heart stuttered in my chest, and I pressed a gentle kiss on his lips. "Fang, I love yo – " I started, but was interrupted by a baby crying.

"It's your turn," I said quickly, pulling out of his arms.

"No, it's – "

"Nu uh! I have to – " I cast my glance around the kitchen. " – cook breakfast!"

The crying morphed to a wail.

Fang gave up.

"Don't go near that stove, Max!" Fang yelled, before very coolly winging out the open window nearby and up to the next floor. Quicker than the stairs.

I grinned at nothing in particular. Was it possible to die of a heart exploding from happiness? Even our baby crying couldn't put me down.

The world was saved, Fang and I were married, if not scarred a little. Minus the marriage and baby part, and the world being saved, the world was going back to what it was twenty five – no, almost twenty six – years ago.

There was even danger like twenty six years ago, though it came from reporters, not evil scientists or cults.

And, bonus, we were considered normal. Humans and mutants balanced each other out now. And while the world wasn't quite stable yet, everything was peaceful compared to constant bombs from the One Light.

"Max, we're out of diapers!"

"Use a towel for now!" I was _such_ a good mom. "I'll get more after I cook breakfast!"

"You're not cooking breakfast, Max!" Fang yelled back from a floor above.

"I'm your _wife_, Fang!"

"That's not a reason to burn the house down!"

I rolled my eyes, and picked up my orange juice again. I rested a hand on my swelling stomach.

The world was saved from total destruction, the sun actually shined now, and my family was _safe_.

Yes, I was content with my cliché ending. I was too happy to care otherwise.

_Fin_

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><p><strong>Awwwww! Wasn't that <em>sappy<em>? Wasn't that _cliché_? I totally overused the word "cliché" in this story, by the way. I know it, you don't have to tell me. I also know the ending doesn't quite fit the mood the rest of the story had, but whatever. Cramming two or three books worth of "plot" into six chapters. This is the bare bones. Think of any stunning summary for this story, please tell.**

**Review please. I know you want to. I know you want to because, er, I can see it… in your eyes… Yeah.**

**Tee hee. :D It's done! Thanks again for reviewing, all you who reviewed!**

**-SS**


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